


you make things less bad

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, massive feel, non penatrative sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1978866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt of Non-penetration! http://mating-games.livejournal.com/17112.html: sorry I'm not sorry</p>
            </blockquote>





	you make things less bad

The first weeks are rough.

And it’s not because Derek doesn’t like having Isaac around - it’s just that he’d forgotten how lust, dark and tangy, lingered beneath everything at that age.  
Isaac leaves for school smelling like toothpaste, honey and wanting to fuck.

When he sprawls on his bed, reading Derek’s old copy of _The Picture of Dorian Grey_ , his cheeks are ruddy, mixing the scent of ripeness and musk (Isaac’s natural scent is cloves, and dirt. Spicy, packed earth.) with that of Derek’s favorite novel.

He can distinguish that book by scent because it belonged to an elderly woman in his apartment building in Queens - she’d always ask Derek to read to her while she pruned the potted herbs in her windowsill. It still smelt of basil, of rosemary - of the late Beta, Mrs. Marjorie Vanderkampf.

As they get more comfortable around each other - Isaac picking up the occasional plum for Derek at the store, Derek’s hastily scrawled reading suggestions stacked neatly on a corner of Isaac’s dresser - things get worse.  
His nightly reading of _The Iliad_ interrupted, Derek knows that if he were human, he’d never be able to hear Isaac’s stifled breaths, or the exhalation as spit-slick fingers press into puckered heat , but he isn’t. He lies in his own bed, atop a few shirts, including the stained henley Isaac has taken to wearing in the house.

Wouldn’t Isaac be embarrassed, knowing that in the morning Derek had heard him shudder to completion? Honestly, Derek is impressed it took this long - despite the purpledark of want that thrums around the boy, Isaac hasn’t touched himself since living with Derek.

Not wanting to scent shame on the person whose quiet laugh - hand over mouth, deeply dimpled - makes his palms itch, Derek touches himself.

He knows he’ll sound different to Isaac - no foreskin gliding over the head, choked groans deep in the back of his throat, rasp of coarse hair as he tweaks his nipples, fingers a tad too sharp on the sensitive peaks. And as he twists his wrist, he realizes he’d forgotten to listen for Isaac.

Derek stills, taking in Isaac’s broad shoulders, stretching the tee that definitely belongs to him. The gleaming pink of his cockhead peeks from his boxer-slit, one hand’s long fingers plucking at his bottom lip, the other pressed against the hot skin beneath his bellybutton.

All it takes is an extension of his arm, an unfurled palm.  
Isaac is pliant in his arms - straddling Derek’s waist, he presses kisses to Derek’s temple, chin, neck. His hips rock back and _down_ , breathy gasps hot against Derek’s chest. His curls are matted behind his ears, and at the nape of his neck.

Blueblackpurple spice hanging over both of them like a cloud, Derek presses his hands against the curve of the boy’s ribs, biting at the jut of his jaw, the tense cords between neck and shoulder. It isn’t difficult to push on Isaac’s chest until his back is flat against the comforter, and even less difficult to pull off both of their clothes until slender, pale thighs shake, limber hands scrabbling at the long lines of Derek’s back.

He surges forward into the soft, hot skin of Isaac’s hip, gentling as Isaac whimpers, drinks in the small sounds that change color when tongue touches clavicle, when callused fingers dig into the meat of Isaac’s thigh and the boy _moans_. As narrow hips become erratic in their movement, teeth scraping the underside of a jaw stronger than a boy his age should possess, Isaac bares his neck and sighs his name, thighs clenching as he spills between their bellies.

Isaac presses a long finger to his swollen mouth, eyes hazy as Derek takes in his sated form.

If Isaac were still human, he’d have bruises blooming on all his tenderest places.

And that sends Derek over the edge, thumbs digging into the softness below Isaac’s hipbones.

He wishes he could come again, as Isaac laps the mess from his gleaming fingers, all shy, big eyes while his tongue darts between his fingers. Instead, he draws the boy into his lap, licks the taste of them from Isaac’s hot mouth, lets their kisses turn lazy until their mouths are sore.

“Can I sleep here?”

Derek nods, doesn’t say _forever_ , or _let me learn with you_. Just pulls those skinny hips into his, and tangles their legs together.


End file.
